Hunters
by Quincy Connally
Summary: When a vicious assault leaves a rabbit in the hospital, the search for the attacker sends Nick and Judy on a journey through the seedy underside of Zootopia.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

At 8:04pm, on Wednesday, June 14th, police were called to the scene of an assault in an alleyway on Brook Street. The victim was a rabbit.

Police cruisers formed a perimeter around both openings while paramedics stabilized the victim and removed her in an ambulance. Crime scene investigators combed the scene for trace evidence, including fur and a sweaty paw print left in the grit. Expert analysis of the fur would tell us the attacker's species, and examination of the paw print would tell us their sex and approximate height. Eventually, DNA analysis would serve as evidence in court, but that was a ways off.

The beaver who called in the incident was on the scene, and my partner and I were given the task of questioning him.

"Good evening," my partner said. "I'm Officer Judy Hopps, this is Officer Nick Wilde. We'd like to get the full picture of what you saw."

"It wasn't much," the beaver said. "I was walking down Brook Street when I saw this suspicious-looking fox dart into the alley ahead of me. I don't mean to imply,"—he glanced up at me—"that he looked suspicious _because_ he was a fox or anything, I mean he looked _really_ suspicious, you know, he was looking all around, he had his paws in his pockets and all that. So I peeked into the alley just to make sure he wasn't up to anything, and I saw him with his arm on the wall accosting this rabbit. I didn't hear what they were talking about, but pretty soon the fox lashed out and bit her on the face and scratched her with his claws. She fell down and he kept biting and scratching her, but when he looked up and saw me standing there, he snatched up her purse and ran off. He looked like what you'd see on one of those nature shows, you know, the prehistoric ones, with the blood on his mouth and all that."

"Do you know either the attacker or the victim?" Judy said.

"No," said the beaver.

Judy brought up the criminal record database on her phone and filtered by _Species: Fox_. She flashed him the screen and said, "Can you recognize the attacker among these pictures?"

He peered at the mugshots and swiped left a few times, but just said, "Sorry, um, I didn't get _that_ good a look at him, and there are, um …"

"We understand."

We thanked him for his time and let him go. We stayed on the scene, and after a time the senior officer, who had been relaying information back to headquarters, came up to us.

"I've got orders," he said. "Hopps, Wilde, you're in charge of this case from now on. The victim is Kaitlyn Clemens, currently in stable condition at Sunlight Hospital. Preliminary analysis of the evidence indicates that the perpetrator is a red fox, probably male, roughly four feet in height. Happy hunting."

I spotted one of the crime scene investigators carrying a plastic bag with a few strands of red fur inside. I felt just the slightest pang of dread in the pit of my stomach.

We got in our car. Judy started the engine, but didn't put it in gear or put her seat belt on right away. She said, "So we've got a case. Pretty exciting, right? More exciting than traffic patrol, anyway."

"Did you hear that self-righteous beaver?" I said. "'I saw this _suspicious-looking_ fox … Oh, I don't mean to imply anything, Officer Fox, but this fox looked _really_ suspicious …'"

"Well, that fox did put a rabbit in the hospital. Maybe the beaver was right to think he looked suspicious."

"Petty robbery. You know, there are about thirteen-thousand incidents like this per year in this city. Why was _this_ case dumped on us? Does the ZPD figure it takes a sly fox to catch a sly fox? Am I their new secret weapon?"

"We were assigned this case because _someone_ had to be and we're qualified. That's all there is to it."

"Whatever you say. How are we going to go about this?"

"I already found her Muzzlebook profile. It has her home address and plenty of pictures."

"No kidding. Any foxes on her friends list?"

"Well, yes, a bunch, but she has some five-hundred friends, so that doesn't exactly narrow it down much. There aren't any foxes in any of the pictures on her timeline, so no clues as to who she might have associated with."

"You said her address was on there, right? Where is it?"

"It's on Down Street. Looks like an apartment."

"Her landlord or neighbors might know something, but I don't know if they'll want to talk to us."

"Why not?"

"Animals around here tend to be a little less trusting of law enforcement, especially since a few of the public's favorite attractions operate on the edge of legality. There's sort of an unspoken agreement for everyone to keep their mouths shut."

"Still, it couldn't hurt to ask."

"I suppose not."

We punched the address into the GPS and drove. The landlord was able to confirm that Kaitlyn Clemens was a tenant in room 206 on the second floor, but she denied any knowledge of Kaitlyn's associations. We walked up the stairs, and Judy, on a hunch, tried Kaitlyn's door handle. It was locked, naturally, but thinking on it a moment, she went one door to the left to room 207 and knocked.

Two raccoony-looking predators answered the door together. I didn't know their species exactly, but one was light-brown and had a rounder face and small ears, and the other was gray and had a pointy snout and long ears. We could hear the television set a little too loud on a news station.

Judy showed one of Kaitlyn's Muzzlebook pictures and said, "Is this your neighbor?"

The round-faced one said, "What? Oh, yeah. That's Kaitlyn. She lives right over there." He pointed to the door we were just at. "She's not in trouble, is she?"

"Why would she be in trouble?"

The pointy-snout one said, "Dude, don't be running your mouth to the police!"

"Sorry!" said the round-faced one, and he turned back to us. "Sorry, we can't say any more unless you have a warrant."

Judy put her paws up. "Look, whatever Kaitlyn was up to, it's not why we're here. She was attacked earlier this evening on Brook Street. All we know is that the perp is a red fox, so if you could tell us any names of foxes you know Kaitlyn to have associated with, you could really help us out."

Their eyes drifted over to me for a moment when Judy said "red fox." The pointy-snout one glanced at the floor and said, "I wonder if it _does_ have something to do with those clients."

The round-faced one said, "Now who's running his mouth to the police?"

Judy, on the ball as ever, said, "Do you know Kaitlyn's clients?"

The pointy-snout one said, "All right, listen. We don't really talk much with Kaitlyn, but we live next door to her, you know? And the walls are pretty thin, so we hear her talking on her phone a lot. Some dude'll call and she'll say things like, 'Yeah, baby, where do you want to meet me?' and then later someone else will call and she'll say, 'I have an appointment at such-and-such hotel …'"

"So you think she was some kind of escort?" I said.

"I mean, we don't know anything for sure, but that's what we figured. Sometimes her phone would ring at like 2pm, and it would just ring and ring until she finally answered it. I think she took sleeping pills or something."

The round-faced one said, "You know they were just saying, something like eighty percent of escorts have been assaulted at some point. Usually by clients. A lot of them are psychos or have serious mental problems."

"You guys want to get to the point?" I said.

"All right," said the pointy-snout one. "We never heard her talking to anyone who sounded like a pimp or a manager, so we figured those calls that weren't with clients were with like a circle of other escorts she kept, you know, for cross-referencing and protection and whatnot."

"Did she ever do incalls?"

"I'm not gonna lie, sometimes we _really_ don't pay attention to what's going on outside this door. But I don't remember seeing anyone besides Kaitlyn go into that apartment."

"Do you know the names of any of her clients?"

"Nah. I think she was smart enough not to say any details over the phone."

Judy said, "Thank you both. You've given us some good information."

"No problem. Hope you catch the guy."

We returned to the car. Judy Zoogled "zootopia escorts" and clicked the first result, a listing site where girls advertised, either independently or with an agency. She searched "Kaitlyn Clemens," but that only brought up a few Kaitlyns who weren't rabbits, and a few who were but looked nothing like our Kaitlyn.

"They're all gonna be using fake names," I said.

She sighed and searched "rabbit," then combed through the thumbnails. She brought up Kaitlyn's pictures on the cruiser computer and compared them. The site's blurbs advertised things like "companionship," "fun night in the city," "the girlfriend experience," and all that, just enough to preserve deniability, but their suggestive pictures in various states of undress hinted at their true purpose. Their prices were anywhere from five hundred to a thousand an hour. There was a pattern to their names: Hazel, Holly, Dandelion … "Rabbits really love plants," I said.

Judy ignored me and kept going through the pictures. She stopped on one and said, "I think this is her." She'd settled on a girl who had her name listed as Primrose.

I said, "Anyone in this profession with any brains screens their clients, in order to make sure they're not serial killers or, you know, police. They ask for things like names, phone numbers, and email addresses, and they keep it all written down so that other escorts can reference them."

"Do I want to know why you know so much about this?"

"A guy has his curiosities, living in this city."

"Yeah, I don't want to know. In any case, if we get a hold of Kaitlyn's list, we should be onto something, right?"

"Yep. Then begins the tedious process of questioning all those clients one-by-one."

"Only the foxes."

"Oh, right. I forgot."

"I'll get started on the paperwork tomorrow morning."

"They're all going to say the same thing, you know. 'No, I didn't bite that girl's face off, officers. I met with her at such-and-such hotel, but it was just for a dinner date, we didn't get up to anything illegal, you can't prove anything,' et cetera et cetera."

"That's why we'll have to look into their stories and make sure they check out."

"Sounds like this case could be a long one."

"That's the truth. Cases like this have gone unsolved for years. But we won't give up."

We got our warrant signed by the judge and returned to Kaitlyn's apartment. It was big for this part of town, and very clean. The walls and carpet were pure white with no pictures or decorations, the couch was clear with the cushions neatly aligned, and there were no dishes in the sink. The place showed an almost compulsive tendency toward tidiness, and judging by the sixty-inch TV, her means weren't modest, either.

I said, "Remind me to think about getting into the escort business if this whole police thing doesn't work out."

Judy started checking the rooms. In the kitchen, I noticed a cutting board with a small amount of white powder on it. I looked through the cupboards, and behind some pasta boxes I found orange prescription bottles. I pulled one out and read the label. Triazolam. Yep. Sleeping pills.

Her laptop was plugged in on a desk in her bedroom. We found the information in a text file and copied it onto a flash drive, then slipped the laptop into a bag for evidence. Primrose didn't slack when it came to vetting these guys; her document listed their species, phone numbers, email addresses, and sometimes even places of work, along with appointment dates and notes of anything interesting she came upon while searching. All of it went all the way back to her earliest clients.

After that, it was time to go knocking on doors. We questioned three foxes on the first day, then five on the second. They came in all kinds and from all walks of life; from the ones living alone in shacks to the ones in nice townhouses, a few of whom had to bring us into private rooms so their wives wouldn't hear. They all denied getting up to any funny business or having anything to do with the attack.

On the third day, Saturday morning, we got word that Kaitlyn had woken up and was speaking again. We went right away to Sunlight Hospital to see her.

The nurse gave us a run-down on her condition. Chunks of flesh had been torn off the left side of her face, and the initial skin grafts were just starting to heal; her left eye was damaged; and she had multiple lacerations that had been stitched up, on her face as well as her neck, shoulders, chest and belly. She would need a few more surgeries, and plenty of time to recover, but for now she was awake and seemed to be in good spirits.

We heard chatter from within the room. Kaitlyn was sitting upright and carrying on an amiable conversation with her doctor, but as we walked in, her good eye fell on me and she yelped in terror. She put her head in her paws and cried out, and the doctor laid a paw on her shoulder and said, "It's all right. They're police." Then, to us, he said, "Do you mind? She's been through a rather traumatic few days."

Judy turned to me and said, "Nick, um, why don't you let me handle this one? I think it'll be easier." She mouthed the words, "I'm sorry."

My ears drooped a bit, but I took the hint and sat in a chair in the corner of the room.

Judy went up to Kaitlyn's bedside and sat on a stool beside her. She said, "Kaitlyn, how are you feeling? Are you with me, Kaitlyn?"

Kaitlyn calmed herself and steadied her breathing. She shot another glance at me, then said, "Yeah. I'm sorry, just … Can I have some more painkillers? Please?"

"Later," the doctor said.

Judy said, "Kaitlyn, my partner and I want to catch the animal who did this to you. Can you help us with that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, um … I'll do my best."

"Do you know the name of your attacker?"

Kaitlyn averted her eyes. "Um, no. No, all I remember is that he was a red fox."

Judy flashed her phone and said, "Is his name on this list?" It was Kaitlyn's client document.

Kaitlyn furrowed her brows. "Did you search my apartment?"

"Yes, with a warrant. You're not in trouble—like I said, we only want to catch the animal who attacked you. If his name is on this list, and you point him out, you could save us a _lot_ of time and effort."

Kaitlyn sighed and said, "All right." She reached out with a finger and scrolled down on Judy's phone screen. She stopped on a particular entry and said, "That's him. Renny Eunice."

Judy nodded to me, and I pulled up my own copy of the document and scrolled to the name Renny Eunice. His appointment with Primrose was about four weeks ago. Aside from his name, there was a phone number and email address, but no further information or notes.

Judy said, "What can you tell us about Renny Eunice?"

"He was a client," Kaitlyn said. "As clients go, nothing really stuck out about him at the time. A lot of them have their particular kinks, and they want some intricate set-up or a lot of foreplay, but this guy just wanted to get down to business, and he got down _hard_. It was over in about thirty minutes, then he paid me for the minimum two hours and sent me out. A lot of these guys have their personal issues they want to work out on you, but in his case, whatever it was, he kept it to himself. He barely said a word the whole time he was with me."

"Were you expecting to meet him on Brook Street?"

"No. I didn't know he was following me until he showed up in the alley. He walked in front of me and bent down and picked up this ring, then asked me if I dropped it. I said I didn't, but he tried to give it to me anyway, since he said it didn't fit him and it looked so good on me. Then he started talking about how I should give him some money for it. I read about a ring scam or something like that on the Internet, where someone tries to pawn a cheap ring on you, and he was _really_ acting weird, so I told him to go away and tried to get out of there. That's when he got in close, pinned me to the wall and said the truth was he needed money bad. I told him that's his problem, and he asked if he could take me to a hotel again, only since he didn't have any money he asked if I could put it on his 'tab.' I told him again to get lost, and …"

"I understand," Judy said. "Thank you for talking with us, Kaitlyn."

The doctor said, "If you're finished your questioning, you should let the patient rest."

Judy hopped down from the stool. I stood up from my chair, and we left the room and shut the door behind us.

Outside, I said, "This Renny Eunice guy's got a record. Various small-time cons over the years. His address is on Den Street."

"Good work. Let's go."

"I checked his phone number, too. It's deactivated now, naturally. I couldn't find any contracts in his name, so he must have only used prepaid phones."

"Clever. In any case, we'll check out the apartment and see what we can find."

A vixen answered Renny's apartment door, greeting us through the chain. TV noise reached us from within, and from where we were standing, we could see an older fox sitting on what appeared to be the living room couch.

Judy said, "We'd like to speak with Renny Eunice."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Nothing. We just want to talk."

"I'm sorry, but he's not home right now."

I said, "What was your name?"

"Alice Eunice."

"Alice, so sorry to bother you. Someone called in saying they saw some fox acting suspicious around the park. By the time we got there, they had cleared out, obviously, but someone mentioned Renny's name and now the higher-ups want us to check on him. A complete waste of time if you ask me—someone saw someone who reminded them of someone and now we're chasing down the usual suspects. If you tell us where he is, we can have a short chat with him and be done with this little errand."

"I don't know exactly where he is. The last time I saw him was Wednesday morning at breakfast."

"Is it normal for him to be away so long?"

Alice didn't say anything.

"Do you think you could let us have a look around?"

"I'd really rather you didn't."

"I understand. But when we go back and report that no one seems to know where Renny is, they're gonna view that with a bit of suspicion. They'll probably issue a search warrant to finely comb this place for any sign of wrongdoing, but if you let us in now, we'll do a cursory look to make sure there are no black bills or fake watches lying around and let them know there's nothing to see. What do you say?"

She considered it for a moment and said, "All right." She shut the door, undid the chain, and opened it wide. Judy gave me a sidelong grin.

We stepped inside and shut the door behind us. The carpet was threadbare and stained, and there was a musky scent that they'd seemed to have given up on trying to get out. The wallpaper had a few rips in it, at least one of which looked like it was made with claws. The old fox didn't say anything, just looked at us with that perpetual old-mammal scowl, one I knew well from when we visited my mom's dad in the nursing home. Alice sat in a chair, while Judy and I remained standing.

"Renny is my younger brother," Alice said. "This is our father."

"Nice to meet you," Judy said. "Can I ask what you do for work?"

"Oh, you know. I keep us afloat by serving at a couple of diners. Dad used to be a carpenter, before he hurt his back."

"What about Renny?"

"You know, he does odd jobs here and there."

"I don't know, actually. What does he do?"

"Didn't you want to look around?"

"That's right. Could you show us to his bedroom?"

She stood up and lead us down a short hallway toward the back of the house. Past the door on the left was a bedroom with two beds, one at either side. On the left side, a poster for the Red Fox baseball team was hung on the wall. On the right, there wasn't much besides the dressers and a bedside table with a lamp.

"He shared the room with Dad," Alice said.

Judy started by checking the drawers. I looked under the right-side bed and found some cardboard boxes. I pulled one out and found it full of paw-carved wooden figures.

"I suppose you could say that was his hobby," Alice said. "Something he'd do a little of at night before he went to sleep. It helped calm his paws, you know?"

I took a few out and looked them over. The details on some of them were impressive, with fur, cloth, eyes and everything. Others were in various unfinished states. Digging down, I found a rabbit figure with some deep cuts in it and both ears cut off, like he'd gotten particularly frustrated with that one.

"Did Renny have a thing about rabbits?" I said.

"Rabbits? Nothing that I know about."

I put it all away and said, "All right. Thanks for your time."

"There's one other thing," Alice said. "Renny has a friend named Shawn Summers, a silver fox, you know, gray fur, black ears, black muzzle. They've known each other since grade school. I don't know if they've associated recently, but I do know that Shawn works at Reid's Corner Store, so maybe he could tell you something."

"We'll do that. Thanks."

Reid's Corner Store was a liquor-dispensing gas station with those old-fashioned clicky price-counters still on the pumps, and lucky for us, it was still inside normal business hours. We pushed through the swinging screen door, and I said to the boar behind the counter, "Hey, can we speak to Reid?"

"I'm Reid," the boar said.

"Is Shawn Summers here?"

He pointed to an "Employees Only" door toward the back of the room. Since it was the slow part of the day, and the shelves were all stocked, Shawn was in the back taking inventory, apron over his nice black shirt. When he saw us, he jumped slightly.

"Whoa, hey, Melany didn't really go to the police, did she? I don't know what she told you, but I never explicitly _said_ I was Kevin Catsner …"

"We're not here about Melany," Judy said.

"Was it Jennifer then?"

"What sort of cons did you and Renny pull, Shawn?" I said. "I bet it was the shell game—Renny was the dextrous sort, right? He could put that ball anywhere and nowhere, while you listened for sirens and suckered in the marks, maybe win a few bets yourself to make it look easy, or lose a few to make them think they can win where you lost …" I watched the movement of his eyes as I went on.

"So you're taking me in, huh?" He never dropped his arrogant grin. "Did Renny rat on me or something? All that stuff was years ago, how's it catching up with me now?"

Judy said, "We have our ways. But perhaps we could cut a deal. If you can tell us where to find Renny, we'll let you go for now."

"What, he's not at his apartment?"

"No, he's not."

"Then I'm sorry, I'd love to help, but I really don't know anything about anything. Renny and I haven't spoken in a while."

I said, "You sound like a bit of a tail chaser. You know much about the escort world, particularly those of the lapine variety?"

"Escorts? Yeah, I've been known to have them on occasion. For _dinner date_ _s_. But I'm not really into bunnies." He smirked at Judy even as he said it.

"I'm not sure I believe you," I said. "I want to hear something useful, because if I don't, we can finish this chat at the station."

"All right, jeez. _I'm_ not into bunnies, but Renny was, totally. We went to clubs together, and there was a place he particularly liked, some neo-burlesque place or whatever called Garden Variety. Like you can probably tell from the name, it featured performances by small- to mid-size prey, and there was one bunny there that Renny was _really_ into. I dunno her real name, but her stage name was Clover. So one day, Renny and I made a lot of money on a pigeon drop. You know what that is, right?" He raised one eyebrow at me.

Judy took the bait and said, "What's a pigeon drop?"

Shawn grinned. "It's when you show the mark a lot of money and convince them they can have it if they throw their money in as well—then, when they're not looking, you make off with the whole package, or switch it for a bunch of worthless paper or something. It's called a pigeon drop because the mark, the pigeon, gets dropped with nothing. Renny and I had all sorts of ways to do it. Usually he would approach the mark with the money, then I would come in acting like another bystander. We would act like we just found a wallet or envelope with a lot of cash on the ground, and get friendly with the mark like we wanted to share it, but we would come up with some reason why the mark should put some of their own money in—lawyer fees, bank fees, or just good old-fashioned 'good faith' money. It sounds silly, but with the right mark we could convince them to drive to the ATM and withdraw thousands of dollars. Some of them took out cash advances on their credit cards."

"'The right mark' usually being the elderly, right?" I said.

"They were the easiest, but not our only targets," he said. "On this day, though, it was in fact an old leopard lady that got us our big payday. She withdrew—I'm not kidding—fifteen grand from her bank account, and we took it and ditched her outside an office building. Renny used his share to get a new suit, a grooming, and a nice bottle of sparkling wine, then off he went to the Garden, where he puffed out his chest, put on a charming smile, and asked Clover for a date. I really don't know what he saw in that bunny, but he was bound and determined."

"What happened then?" Judy said.

"I don't know," Shawn said. "It must have gone well, because they kept seeing each other, but he and I didn't really plan many jobs after that, so we fell out of touch. If I were you, I would check out Garden Variety. Ask Clover where he is, and leave me alone."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

We arrived at the club that evening. The place screamed _opulence_ in every way it could manage, from the dim red light that filled the entrance lobby to the neon signs and classical artwork that lined the walls both inside and out. We got ourselves a corner booth and waited for the show to begin.

The curtains raised, and the many colorful spotlights fell on the almost-entirely rabbit troupe on the stage. The lead, front and center, sang a rendition of a 60's hit song that I don't remember the name of, in a powerful voice that I didn't think could come out of such a small creature. A live band played the classic tune reinterpreted with some modern pop sounds, while the rest of them danced a stylish and sensual routine. Their costumes were at once glamorous and revealing, with almost as much glitter as fur on display.

I leaned over to the table next to us and asked the jackal sitting there, "Is Clover on stage?" He pointed to the dancer on the far left.

When the curtains came down, Judy and I got up and told the stagehand that we were looking to speak with Clover. He disappeared backstage, and a few moments later the rabbit came out to us.

"Clover?" Judy said. "That's a nice name. What's your real one?"

"Laura."

"Nice to meet you. We heard you're friendly with a fox named Renny Eunice."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"We just want to talk to him, but no one seems to know where he is. We'd appreciate if you could help us find him."

"What is wrong with you? When I say I don't know what you're talking about, I mean I don't know! Do you have any more reasons to continue wasting my time? No? Then if you don't mind, I've got another show to prepare for."

She walked off. There was nothing we could do but leave the building.

The next morning, we checked Garden Variety's employment records. We to got Laura's full name, then checked her records to see if we could find anything interesting. We drove to her address and knocked on the door. She scowled when she saw us, but didn't say anything.

"Good afternoon," Judy said. "Laura Willoughby, right? I don't think we got a chance to say it, but we loved your show last night."

"Didn't I tell you I don't know anything?" Laura said.

"Look,"—she put on the most sincere apologetic face—"I think we got off on the wrong paw. We didn't mean to frighten you or stress you out. But we'd like to ask you again to help us find Renny Eunice."

"And I'd like to tell you again to get out of my face."

"All right. We didn't want to bring up your old haunts, but you're forcing our paws here." She held a paw up to her side, and I handed her the manila folder I was carrying.

She opened it, leafed through the top pages, and said, "How was the bar business?"

Laura suddenly looked very interested.

"Last year, you submitted business and liquor license applications for a bar called the Meadow, to be opened on Valley Street, right?" Judy said. "You named a rather _interesting_ loan agency as your source of funds—and I don't blame you, we all know how tight-fisted the banks can be toward animals who don't already have money. However, we,"—she glanced up at me—"happen to know that _some_ of these agencies are run by certain criminal organizations. You could have found these agencies yourself, or you could have gotten a well-connected fox with experience in the criminal underworld to help you out. The Meadow went out of business about three months ago, but if we look into it, I'm sure we'll uncover all the dirty details. But we're really not in this to punish the little guy. You wanted to get out of dancing and you were willing to do whatever it took to achieve your dream—trust me, I know the feeling. We just want to find this fox who seems to have disappeared. Will you help us?"

Now Laura was furious. Her face was actually terrifying.

"You cops think you can get whatever you want by waving your badges around. When animals don't bend over when you ask them to, you dig up dirt and make threats. Oh, you'll investigate my sources of funds, will you? Go ahead—somehow I don't think you'll stop the collectors from coming around next week."

"Please, ma'am, we're just trying to protect the city."

"That's a good one. I never saw you snooping around Renny was being robbed, beaten, or intimidated, yet the instant he's not in his apartment you're out tracking him down."

"So you do know him?"

Laura leaned her forehead into the door frame. "Yes, I knew him. But it's been a long time since we've spoken, so I don't know where he is now."

"Are you sure? Please, try hard to remember."

"Yes, even if I wanted to help you, I can't. Is that it? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"If you think of anything, give us a call, all right?"

"I'll be sure to do that." She practically slammed the door on us.

We stopped outside on the stoop and took a breath of fresh air. I said, "You want to get something to drink?"

Judy said, "God, yes."

We drove to a small restaurant with a bar that I liked, down the road from my apartment. It wasn't busy at this time of day, so Judy and I sat at the bar and ordered. She got some kind of rabbity cocktail involving silver tequila and carrot juice, with a sprig of carrot greens sticking out that she ate before she started drinking. I stuck with straight whiskey on ice, and as we sipped our first glasses, Judy said, "Do you think Laura knows where Renny is?"

"She might," I said. "I gotta say, though, I think she's telling the truth."

"What do you think's going on between them?"

"Well, if you believe what Shawn said, they hit it off and started dating. But if you believe what she said about them not talking, they might have broken up … although she still seems to sympathize with him."

"Do you think she knows about the attacks?"

"That, I'm not sure about."

"They broke up, then he went and paid for Kaitlyn. He was intimate with her, yet later he attacked her so savagely … He's like a wild animal."

I didn't say anything to that.

"I know it feels like we only got put on this case because _he's_ a fox and _you're_ a fox … But, if it helps, he really is a bad guy who needs to be caught. You're doing good now."

"Right … Doing good."

"You don't believe me?"

"I was a con artist for twenty years of my life. It's not easy to put all that behind me and tell myself I've jumped the fence to the side of law and order."

"But you're out of that life now."

"And before that, was _I_ a bad guy? Not 'doing good' as you put it?"

"Nick …" I could almost hear a groan coming up in her throat.

"Did I ever tell you why I got into conning in the first place?"

"Why don't you tell me now?"

"It was just me and my mother growing up, and we didn't always have a lot of money for fancy things like food or rent. My mother tried her hardest, but she was always either working some minimum-wage job or hunting for a new one, and it tore me up to see her struggling. So one day, I went out and threw myself in front of a moving car. I rolled over the windshield, fell onto the pavement, lay there and cried and screamed about my broken leg. Then the driver got out, and I asked how she was gonna make it right. Believe me, when animals see a howling fox kit on the ground, and they're facing media attention and their insurance going up, they'll throw down any amount of money to make the problem go away."

Judy couldn't help but giggle.

"I did that for a while, then I think it was in sixth or seventh grade that I took a mandatory art class and realized I had pretty good fine motor skills and an eye for detail. So I started paying weasels to buy me lottery tickets with the previous day's winning numbers, then I carefully altered the dates with a black pen and sold them to marks for whatever was in their wallets. Since kids can't play the lottery, I would claim I found it on the ground and that I couldn't cash it in. It wasn't until years later that I learned that the ones who tried to turn in my altered tickets were exposed to criminal charges. Even if I'd known, I'm not sure I would have cared."

"Sounds like you lived a pretty exciting life," Judy said.

"Exciting? Yeah, I suppose. I didn't feel any remorse for the animals I cheated out of their money. The way I saw it, they were the bourgeoisie and I was the proletariat, and it was righteous that their money should go to me. Renny and I weren't so different, really. We both survived by preying on others, the only thing we were good at."

"But you never hurt anyone."

"That's true. There were times I came close, though. All of us reach a breaking point sooner or later."

"Don't give me that," she said. "You would never hurt anyone, no matter how bad things got. That's what makes you different from Renny. It has nothing to do with breaking points: it takes a real degenerate to hospitalize someone for a purse, and that's not the kind of animal you are."

"You know, I really do appreciate the vote of confidence." I let a smile creep onto my face.

The whiskey was starting to slosh around in my skull, and I'd just gotten a refill when Judy's phone rang. She picked it up and said, as straight as she could manage, "Officer Hopps." I could see her face turn dour as the voice on the line spoke. She said, "We'll be right there," and hung up.

"There's been another one."

The victim was Gwendolen Grazey, a goat in her sixties. She was attacked in an alley on Burrow Lane and killed with a swift lunge to the throat. There were no witnesses, but the red fur and paw prints told the tale.

"I guess Renny's given up on cons," I said.

The senior officer pointed us to a billy goat standing nearby. He was Gwendolen's husband, and it was our job to talk to him.

"She was just out shopping for gardening supplies," he said. "She grows alfalfa on our balcony. She just planted in April. This time of year, she's always running to the store to pick up more mulch or some new containers …"

He turned his gaze directly to me. "Why do you foxes do these things? She couldn't have been carrying more than a few hundred dollars … Is that how much a goat's life is worth?"

He lifted his hooves like he was going to pound my head. I backed away from him, and Judy got in between us. The goat collapsed where he stood and broke down in tears.

The investigators went through their process. After some hours, we got a message from Forensics. A fur sample the field team had sent back matched the fur left at the Kaitlyn Clemens scene.

Judy turned to me, looking forlorn.

"It's exactly at times like these that we need to double our efforts," she said. "Why don't you get some rest? We've been working long hours these past few days. I'll look up some documents, and tomorrow we'll figure out our next move."

I thought about raising some protest, but in truth I really didn't have the energy. I nodded and left, then walked to the subway station back to my apartment. It was the same apartment I had lived in since I had moved out of my mother's; I still had stuffed animals on the couch that smelled like her, and the walls were lined with art pieces I'd picked up over the years, but for some reason, at that moment, it felt like I was stepping into a den of monsters. When I turned on the lamp, the dim light seemed to struggle to hold back the darkness.

I got up with the sun the next morning and threw about half of my wardrobe and toiletries in a suitcase. I put on my brightest floral shirt and tie and walked to the subway. I watched the train I normally took to work go by, then I got on the one going in the opposite direction. A familiar path took me to the front door of the Hay-One Diner, still as small and cozy as I remembered. I found a fox sitting at a booth by the window; his scraggly, light-brown fur seemed to stick out in all directions, and his yellowish chest fur crept out from beneath the undone top buttons of his blue work shirt. He sipped his coffee and munched on a plate of fried crickets and eggs. I got his attention when I sat down across from him and said, "Dicky Sands."

His surprise quickly turned to elation. "Well look at that," he said. "Is that Nick Wilde? Last time I saw you, you had flea bites around your ears."

"Last time you saw me, I was twenty-five years old," I said. I snatched one of his crickets and plopped it into my mouth before he could react. "How've you been? Still working for your cousin at that warehouse?"

"Yeah, the Hamazon one. I haven't really gotten back in the game since my long stint. What about you? What've you been up to?"

"You know me. I've been in the game. Surviving the way a fox does."

"What've you done lately?"

"Well, I figured out that I could turn a pretty nice profit just by buying something meant for larger animals—or, more often, getting some sap to buy it for me—and reselling it to smaller animals at a premium. My favorite was to melt down an elephant-sized ice pop and sell it to rodents. I even got all the permits so the cops couldn't do anything if they did catch me."

He chuckled. "At that point, are you even running a con anymore? Or are you working a nine-to-five?"

"What can I say? It's not like the stuff we used to do together, but it's reliable, and it keeps me out of jail. Plus, I'm my own boss."

"I'm heartbroken, Nick. I thought you had a real talent for the performing arts."

"You don't think I can pull off a performance?"

"A tool that ain't used gets rusty, is all."

A portly beaver in a gray business suit had settled in at the counter with a plate of toasted birch wood. I took a sip of Dicky's coffee and glanced at the beaver, then looked back to Dicky and pulled a gold ring out of my shirt pocket. I tapped the ring on the table and said, "What's this?"

"That's a cheap piece of crap is what it is. Where'd you get that thing, Pawmart?"

"Wrong. This is a vintage Victorian-style engagement ring with a point-thirty-five carat oval-cut ruby set in a fourteen karat yellow gold setting. They say the blazing radiance of a pure-red ruby is the perfect expression of one's undying love; its breathtaking hue dazzles the eye and enthralls the heart, leaving a lasting impression. No one knew this better than my grandfather, of course, which is why he chose this ring when he proposed to my grandmother in the simpler time of 1955. Now, the old man died of mastocytosis when I was ten, and my grandmother's just departed us as well, and my cousins and I were sorting out their stuff when we came across this. I figure a ring of this quality has to be worth at _least_ two or three grand, but if you had the cash on you, I'd let you have it for let's say … five hundred dollars?"

A grin of excitement crept across Dicky's face. "Are you thinking the beaver in the suit?"

"You're my support on this one. You're gonna need this." I handed him a small brown pouch over the table.

I pocketed the ring and retreated to the bathroom. I washed my paws and face thoroughly, then came out and sat at the counter next to the beaver. Before I did anything, I called for the server to bring me a cup of coffee.

I gave it a few moments, glanced over to the beaver and said, "Is that your car out front?" I was referring to a shiny Fercedes parked at a meter.

"Yes," he said.

"It's nice. Nice get-up, too."

He offered a terse thanks. I gave it another moment and said, "What do you do for work, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I work in insurance, not that it's really your business."

"Of course not. It's just, with the nice car and the nice suit, you look like a guy who knows how to handle money."

"What are you talking about?"

"I have an opportunity to make some money, and if you're as smart as you look, you'll hear me out." I took out the ring out of my pocket and showed it to him. "My grandmother passed away recently, and my cousins and I were sorting out her affairs when we found this buried in the dresser. Her engagement ring. Oval-cut ruby in a solid gold setting, and it was a simpler time in the '50's, you know, not as many fake ring dealers hopping around. At a guess, I'd say on the open market this would be worth about … two grand, maybe three, but I'm a little desperate for cash at the moment, so if you had it on you, I'd let you have this for five hundred dollars."

"You're trying to pawn your grandmother's engagement ring?"

"What's my family going to do with it? If they don't bury it with her, my cousin Mary would probably keep it in a box in her attic for the next half-century, or Bill might take it and try to pawn it himself. And who do you think took care of her during those final years? It's only now she's gone that the rest of them descend like vultures, so I'm the one who deserves a little break, don't you think? My grandmother was a pragmatic sort, she wouldn't want us to go hungry while sitting on a valuable stone."

"Look, whatever this is, I don't think I want to—"

Dicky called from his table. "What cheap trinket is that fox trying to hawk?"

"Do you mind?" I said. "This doesn't concern you."

"No, lemme see that. I'll tell you what it's _really_ worth. 'Grandmother's engagement ring,' I'll bet …"

He sat at the seat on the other side of me, took the ring and pulled a magnifying loupe out of his pouch. He peered at the ring through the glass and turned it over to examine it from all angles, and I could see his expression transform. He took out a caliper and took careful measurements of the gem and band, then put everything away and said, "I'll tell you what. I'll give you two hundred fifty for it."

"Why?" said the beaver. "What is it?"

"Nothing. So do we have a deal?"

"I really need five hundred," I said.

"Hey," the beaver called, "how about four hundred?"

Dicky said, "Let me get to an ATM, I'll bring your five hundred."

"How long's that gonna take?" I said.

"I don't know, I could hail a cab, get to that convenience store over by Mulberry …"

The beaver pulled some bills out of his wallet. "I've got five hundred fifty."

Dicky said, "I'll give you seven fifty if you wait."

"I'm sorry, he's got the cash," I said. I snatched the money and slapped the ring into his palm. He threw a few bills on the counter and got up to leave.

"What are you even gonna do with that?" Dicky said. "You don't even know what that is, I'll bet. How are you gonna get a fair price for it?"

"I'll figure it out," the beaver said.

"No, I bet you'll let some pawn shop take it for a quarter its value. It makes me sick how jewelry is passed around by hustlers who don't know what they're dealing with. You'll be hearing from my friends in the industry, you understand?"

He shouted at the beaver's back as the door slammed shut on us. I laid a paw on Dicky's shoulder, then we embraced and broke into uproarious laughter. I may have kissed him on the top of his snout.

"That concludes today's lesson on 'perceived value'," I said. "Hey, I hate to spring this on you, but I could use some help from a friend."

"Oh yeah?"

"The furnace in my old apartment building just completely gave up the ghost, I don't know what it was exactly but my landlord mentioned it had something to do with the water tank leaking all over the basement. She said it would cost about a hundred thousand dollars to fix, so instead, they're condemning the building and selling off the land. It'd really help me out if I could stay with you for a bit, just until I find a new place."

"Is that the real reason you came to see me after all this time?" he said. "Okay. I got you on this."

"Thanks, bud, really. I love you. I owe you."

We took the bus back to his apartment. I had stayed there plenty of times back in the day. The smell of the finish on the hardwood floor made me nostalgic, and I opened the closet to find the musky pull-out guest bed I'd slept on. Practically as soon as I'd set my stuff down, we started planning for a new batch of cons. We went out and scoured pawn shops for anything we could find cheap, from rings to watches to antique dishes, then we took them to a string of bars and resold them. The next day, with a bit more preparation we did black bill and violin scams, and on the third day we did a few pigeon drops.

It was Thursday morning, and I lay in bed until the sun hit my face. Dicky was already in the bathroom, trimming his whiskers after his shower, and I rolled over for a few more minutes of peace. When I opened my eyes at last, I noticed my phone's black screen staring up at me from the floor. I realized with some consternation that I had been away from work too long already, but when I thought about turning my phone back on and seeing a dozen missed calls and six angry voicemails from my boss, suddenly I was struck with a wave of lethargy. I lay in bed a bit longer, then steeled myself and picked my phone up.

Seventeen missed calls. That seemed like a lot for three days, even for the ZPD. There were voicemails and texts as well, from various officers, and I decided to go through the texts first. "Hey Nick, no one seems to know where you are, we're getting a little worried," et cetera, et cetera. The last one was sent at eleven o'clock last night, from a cheetah ten years my junior who I'd gone through the academy with. It read simply: "There's been an incident regarding Hopps. Call as soon as you see this." I never hit the "Call" button faster in my life.

As soon the cheetah picked up, I said, "It's Wilde."

"Oh—Wilde! Where've you been? Everyone's been trying to—"

"Just tell me what the hell your text meant."

"Okay, um … Yesterday, a garbage worker found a purse in a trash can that turned out to be Kaitlyn Clemens'. We figure Renny dumped it. It had a few of those little shampoo bottles you get at hotels in it, so Hopps went to visit those hotels, and by ways and means she traced Renny's path until she arrived at the Cherry Tree, where he was staying at the time. As soon as she confirmed he was in the building, she moved to secure the exits and called for backup, but something or someone must have tipped him off, because by the time we got there …"

"Where's Judy now?"

"Zootopia Central Hospital. Some relatives already arrived to give blood."

"And Renny?"

"He got away."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

I threw on yesterday's shirt and pants, did up half the buttons and made for the door. I caught the subway train to City Center and walked to the hospital. There was a crowd of officers on the street outside the front doors, and they all gave me a look and stood aside to let me pass. Inside the lobby were even more officers. I walked up to the front desk and told them who I was, and a nurse guided me upstairs.

"Officer Hopps must have put up a hell of a fight," she said as we walked. "You saw what that perp did to that goat, right?"

We arrived at Judy's room, and I pushed through the door and stopped dead. Crammed wall-to-wall in the tiny space was what must have been the entire Hopps clan, a sea of gray and brown fur, every single one of them frozen in place and staring at me.

The handsome couple who I figured were Mr. and Mrs. Hopps sat front and center in the room, right at the side of the bed where Judy lay sleeping. I heard one of the kids whisper, "Dad, why is there a fox in here?" Another one said, "Is that the fox that got Judy?"

I cleared my throat and said, "Nice to meet you. I'm Nick Wilde. Judy's partner."

Mr. Hopps said, "Partner? You mean, like, her _boyfriend_?"

"No! I'm her partner at the ZPD."

He turned to his wife and said, "Did you know they're letting foxes on the force now?" More of the kids spoke up: "Is he a cop?" "He doesn't look like a cop."

I put my paws together and said, "Yes, I'm a cop. I've known Judy since she moved to this city last year, she's my partner on the force and she is my _friend_. If you don't mind, all I want right now is to see her."

"Well, you see her, don't you? Are you satisfied?" Mr. Hopps stood up; the first hints of anger were starting to come through his voice. Mrs. Hopps said something to try to calm him, but he brushed her off and said, "Didn't I say something like this would happen? When she was getting on the train to this city, I told her, foxes are the _worst_. She tried to convince us otherwise, but I always knew you're all still carnivores at heart."

Mrs. Hopps said, "Honey, you don't need to—"

"No, no!" He turned his attention back to me. "Where were you, anyway? Oh, you're her partner on the force, are you? Aren't partners supposed to watch each others' backs? They let you in and this is what you do, leave our daughter to chase some dangerous criminal while you go wandering off to who knows where? You may not be the one who attacked her, but you're every bit as shifty and untrustworthy and—"

He was cut short when they all reeled back in terror, and I realized it was because I had, just for a moment, flared my snout and showed a bit of my teeth. I covered my snout with a paw and took a deep breath through my nose. My paw was trembling.

Mr. Hopps bravely stepped forward and said, "I think you should leave."

Here, the nurse decided to step in. "Officer Wilde, I have some information regarding your case. If you could just come with me out to the hallway …"

The Hoppses turned back to Judy, and Mr. Hopps sat down and gave me one last glare before he embraced his wife and wept into her shoulder. I stepped out first, then the nurse followed and closed the door behind her.

"I don't actually have any information regarding your case," she said.

"That's what I figured," I said.

"I'm sorry about them. They're still in shock about what happened. Think of it this way: Officer Hopps is through the worst of it. We'll fix her up, and she has no shortage of support here. So why don't you focus on catching the animal that did this?"

"You're right," I said.

She nodded and said, "Good luck." Then she walked off down the hallway.

I left the hospital and started on the route back to the subway station. I took the shortcut through the alley, but when I went to move the loose board in the fence, I stopped. I dropped the board and kicked the nearby trash can as hard as I could. It tipped over and hit the ground with a _crash_ , and the bag split open and spilled its contents on the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was two months into my seventh school year, Friday afternoon, and the air was chilly in preparation for the approaching first snow. I got off the bus in City Center, and instead of going home, I walked to the gas station I'd picked out earlier in the week. A pack of weasels hung out around the corner. I showed them a wad of bills and told them the numbers I needed. One of them took the money and came back with my ticket.

I found a quiet alley, took my pen out of my backpack and got to work. When I was satisfied, I put everything away, put the ticket in my pocket, and made my way to the park.

I saw a fox reading a newspaper on a bench. I'd never tried my trick on another fox before, but this guy looked like he wasn't hard-up for cash, so I decided to go for it. He looked warm despite the chill with his thick fur, streaked with gray across the top of his head and back. I walked up to him and said, "Excuse me." He lowered his paper.

I held up my ticket and said, "Are these yesterday's numbers?"

"Yesterday's?" he said.

"Yeah. I found this ticket from yesterday, and I think I remember seeing these numbers in the paper before, but that can't be right, right? I mean, how amazing would it be to just _find_ a winning lottery ticket?"

He peered closely at the ticket, then at his paper. I waited for his response—would he tell me outright that I had a winning ticket, then let me know a kid couldn't cash in and offer to buy it, or would he act all coy, like he was only taking the ticket to do me a favor?

He looked back at the ticket and said, "How much did you pay someone to buy you a ticket with yesterday's numbers?"

I took a step back and clenched my teeth. He kept looking over the ticket and went on, "That's some impressive penwork. If I were a moron, I could really think this was a winning ticket. How much do you usually make on one of these? Come on, you can tell me."

"A couple hundred, tops. Whatever they've got in their wallet."

"How often do you do it?"

"Once or twice a week."

"Not a bad income for someone your age. Is it for fun, just a good bit of spending money, or is there another reason?"

I didn't say anything, and just glared at him.

"Nevermind, it's not really my business. But you know, I like you. Why don't you let me treat you to some grub? There's a diner I really like just down the road from here. No need to be shy. What's your name, by the way?"

"Nick," I said.

"Mine's Dicky. Dicky Sands."

I hesitated, but if I was being honest, I was still hungry from the school lunch, and I wasn't sure if we were having much of a dinner tonight. So I went with him. We walked to the Hay-One Diner and sat at the booth.

Dicky sat back and looked out the window while I perused the menu. My eyes settled on a barbecue cheeseburger I thought looked pretty tasty, but when the server came to take our order, Dicky told her we were good with just fried crickets for now, and a coffee for him and a soda for me. She brought us our crickets and drinks.

I ate slowly. He almost seemed to have forgotten I was there, and I thought about breaking the silence to ask for the burger, but I wasn't sure if it would be rude. Eventually it got too uncomfortable, and I said sheepishly, "Mr. Sands?"

"Shh," he said. "Just take a moment to enjoy the peace."

An antelope wearing a finely-tailored blue suit walked into the diner, practically shouting into the cell phone cradled between his head and shoulder. "… Stocks set to shoot straight to the top as soon as those patents clear, believe me sir, you do not want to be left behind when these cutting-edge technologies …" He sat at the counter and started pulling papers out of his briefcase.

Dicky said to me, "You see that guy?"

I nodded.

"He's setting up some aspirant investor with a company, and by the sound of it he's hyping that company pretty hard. But look what he's writing on. Pink sheets. Companies that don't have the capital or don't meet the requirements to get on the big stock exchanges trading on the over-the-counter market for pennies a share, where regulations are light, liquidity is low, and information easily obfuscated."

The antelope went on, "… Five thousand, how about eight? Eight thousand dollars, wonderful choice, sir. We look forward to working with you." He hung up, put his phone in his pocket and pumped his hooves in triumph.

"I bet those 'cutting-edge technologies' are two guys taking apart old PCs in their garage," Dicky said. "That investor's not making a cent of that money back, but the brokers are raking in commissions. And to think, they call _us_ predators."

The antelope shuffled his papers back into his briefcase and ordered a daffodil sandwich. Dicky nodded to me, then got up and sat at the counter next to him. I followed.

"Excuse me," Dicky said. "Sorry to bother you, but you sound like you know a thing or two about money."

"You could say that," said the antelope.

"Well, it just so happens that we,"—he gestured to me—"have come into a fair bit of inheritance. Actually it's on his mom's side, and she wants to save it, but I'm thinking we could triple or even quadruple it with a few smart investments. I was going to just look in the newspaper, but then I heard you talking about stocks and I thought you might have some suggestions for companies to look into."

"I could better help you if I had an idea how much we were talking about."

"I don't remember exactly, but it was somewhere on the order of a million and a half. From her great aunt, their family got big in the oil business way back."

The antelope suppressed a grin. I could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes.

"Is that your boy?" the antelope said.

"Yep," said Dicky. Then, to me: "Why don't you tell him what your name is?"

I looked the antelope in the eye and said, "I'm Robby."

Smiling, the antelope said, "How's your mom, Robby?"

"She's good. She's an accountant."

"Good line of work. Did you see your great aunt much?"

"No, she lived pretty far away. She had a big house, and she always gave me presents like stuffed animals when we came to visit. She had, um … Masto … Mastiso …"

"Mastocytosis," Dicky said. "Horrible skin disease that affects foxes. She never had any children of her own, and all her siblings are gone, too, so when they went through her list of kin, eventually they landed on my wife."

"I'm so sorry to hear about your great aunt's passing. But as for her final gift to you, you did the smart thing by talking to me. It's true that you can find something to invest in just by looking in the newspaper, but the reason animals come to brokers is because we have an intricate understanding of market movements and a deep well of inside information. We know which companies are on the way up even before the journals do. Let us invest for you, and you'll come to see that our firm is one that you can trust, one that can consistently make you money."

"That sounds pretty great," Dicky said.

"I know it does. And I get it, at the moment I'm still a stranger to you. But give me time to go over how my clients and I have made home-run knockouts in the past, and we'll see if I can win you over."

Dicky raised his paw to get the server's attention, but the antelope waved him off and said, "Please, allow me." Then he looked to me and said, "What would you like, Robby?"

I opened a menu and pointed to the barbecue cheeseburger.

"Good choice. And you?" he said to Dicky.

"I'll stick with coffee, thanks."

My burger came, and as I dug into it I stopped paying attention to Dicky and the antelope. It was so big I almost couldn't finish it, but I powered through to the last bite; then, when the server came around asking about dessert, the antelope again offered to pay, so I got a milkshake.

"This is pretty exciting," Dicky said.

"And now the big moment," the antelope said. He pulled some pink sheets out of his briefcase. "How much are you ready to put down?"

"I don't know, I mean, maybe I should talk to my wife first. Those are some nice-looking companies you showed me, and I'm sure if I explained it to her she'd she'd see the wisdom, but maybe I should do that before I start throwing in."

"Of course. Go home, sleep on it, do whatever you have to do. But the market moves fast, and these opportunities may not be here tomorrow. Why should we let our fairer other halves stand in the way of our courageous pursuit of betterment?"

Dicky seemed to roll it over in his head. He grinned widely and said, "You know what? Let's do it."

He signed the pink sheets. The antelope gave him some papers to keep, then put the rest in his briefcase. They stood up, shook paw and hoof, and gave each other the sincerest thanks and best wishes. We left, and as soon as we were a block or so down the street, Dicky balled up his papers and threw them in the trash.

"Hope you enjoyed your meal," he said.

"How did you do that?" I said.

"It wasn't anything special. Wooing potential clients is his job, all I had to do was act interested in what he was selling."

"No, I mean, I'm a red fox and you're a corsac. There's no way we could be related."

"You think that guy ever heard the word 'corsac' in his life?"

I paused at that.

"Anyway, I'll see you."

"Wait!" I said. "Do you think we could, um … do that again sometime? For money, I mean, not for food."

"You want to partner up?"

"Yeah."

"Come on, what am I gonna do with a kid?"

"Animals will buy anything if you've got a kid with you. You could pretend to be a starving artist and sell mass-produced paintings, or you could stand outside a church and say I need an operation. Or I could back you up in the shell game, or any of those other ones, don't think I can't."

"All right. I can see that you're serious." He pulled out my lottery ticket that I forgot he had and scribbled something on the back of it. "Foxes really do best when we work together, and I admit I could use a partner like you. Give me a call when you're ready. But if it doesn't work out, I'll change this number and you'll never see me again."

I took the ticket, and he turned and walked away. I turned it over and looked at the phone number, then looked up and watched him go.

I knew it wouldn't have made Judy particularly proud, but I went back to the bar down the road from my apartment. I was just finishing my first whiskey when a rabbit paw set my next glass on the counter in front of me.

"Hey." It was Laura.

"Hey," I said.

"I heard about your partner. On the news—they're saying it was Renny who did it."

"You were definitely close to Renny. What was going on between you?"

She sat down and took a drink from her glass. "Renny was a regular at Garden Variety, and one day he got himself all done up nice and asked me for a night on the town. He obviously liked me, and I didn't think he was so bad myself, so I agreed. I didn't want to spend my whole life as a backup dancer—I always dreamed of running my own business, and with Renny I saw an opportunity to do that. But you already figured that part out."

I nodded.

"Renny wasn't connected to the Meadow on paper," she continued, "but he helped behind the scenes, getting suppliers for cheap or, you know, getting more money when we needed it. And besides that, we were sleeping together. Profits started to dip, though, and I wondered if it was because animals didn't like coming to a bar when they saw a fox hanging around. They might have thought it was one of those clip joints, those places that work with con artists to draw animals in and stick them with exorbitant bills, or they might have thought there was shadiness going on behind the scenes. I didn't tell him any of that, of course, but I think he figured it out, because one day he asked me why I hadn't given him a path to legitimate employment. And I mumbled and dodged the issue, so he pressed harder, and finally I got angry and told him his being a shifty fox was driving business away, and a shifty fox was all he was ever going to be, and that he was never more than a source of funds for me. He left, and I haven't seen him since.

"Of course, profits dipped again, and I came to realize that the regular banks _still_ wouldn't lend to me. Pretty soon everything fell apart and I couldn't afford to keep the place running. I sold it off and went back to the Garden, and I've been paying off debt collectors ever since."

"Why didn't you talk to us before?" I said.

"Would you believe I didn't want to sell out an old friend?" she said. "I don't know. After that day I always wondered if I could have done things differently, and not just because I went out of business without him."

"So you really don't know where he is now?"

"I wager he's on the first train out of the city, now that he's assaulted a police officer."

"That would be smart." Then something occurred to me. "Did Renny have a cell phone when he was with you?"

"A cell phone? Of course he did."

"Do you still have his number in your contacts?"

"I don't suppose I ever got around to deleting it …"

"Let me see."

She took out her phone and navigated to her contacts list. She selected Renny's entry and gave me the phone. I took out my own phone and opened Kaitlyn's screening document.

"The numbers are different," I said. "He used a different number to contact Kaitlyn than the one he used with you."

"What does that mean?"

"He never had a cell phone contract in his name. Both of these were prepaid—burner phones."

"That is how Renny would do things."

"Why don't you try calling this number?"

"Didn't you just say it was a burner phone? What makes you think he still has it?"

"Call it a hunch. You never stopped thinking about him all this time, right? He obviously feels the same way. I bet he would give anything in the world to hear you say, 'I'm sorry'—enough that he may have kept his old phone around just in case you decided to call."

"What do you suggest, then?"

"You call him, right now, and tell him you want a reconciliation. Tell him you're sorry, tell him you want to run away from the city together, tell him whatever you have to to get him to meet you in person."

"And then?"

"When he gets there, he'll find me, ready to arrest him."

" _If_ he still has this phone on him, couldn't you take the number and track it?"

"I could, if I call the carrier and request the data. Then we could pinpoint his location to within about three-hundred feet, go out there and start busting down doors. But we could catch him today, right now, with just this one little trick. We could make him come to _us_."

"I admit, it's a devious plan."

"Devious enough for a fox?"

She smiled.

"Are you ready?" I said.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

She took a deep breath and pressed the "Call" button. She put the phone to her ear and let it ring.

"Renny?" she said. "Oh my God. Renny, it's me. It's Laura. I just wanted to … How've you been? … I know. Renny, I've been thinking about what happened. I'm so sorry—I must have hurt you so bad. But I've been seeing things on the news, they're saying you killed someone? And you attacked a police officer? God, Renny, how did things get to be so …" And, bless this bunny, she actually started crying, right there on the phone. "I'll tell you what. Let's get out of this city. Just you and me, we can go anywhere we like and start over. Wouldn't that be great? … Uh huh … Uh huh … All right, I'll be there. I love you so much. I can't wait to see you again." She hung up.

I laid a paw on her cheek and wiped a tear away with my thumb. "That was some brilliant acting," I said.

"Right," she said. "Acting."

"When and where are you meeting him?"

"Trinity Station, four o'clock."

"That's on the edge of the city."

"And it's almost four now, so you'd better get going."

"Thank you so much for your help."

"Good luck."

Trinity Station was the kind of stop that was little more than a gate, cross-breeze flowing through its tiny seating area. Just over the tracks I could see open fields stretching out into the distance. I sat down and watched the first train arrive, spit out its passengers, take on new ones and depart.

The clock showed five minutes to four. I got out my phone and looked up Renny's mugshot to refresh myself on his appearance. The clock struck four, then five minutes after four. I started to get nervous. What if Renny smelled a trap and didn't show, or got in a position to get the drop on me? I tapped a claw on my thigh. At fifteen after four, I thought about getting out of there, but I found myself afraid to move. I was afraid to take my eyes off the door for a moment. I dug my claws into my pant leg.

At twenty after four, I got a glimpse of red fur. A fox walked into the station, stood at the entranceway and looked around. I took a close look at his face, but what threw me off for a moment was a set of scratches across his cheek and another across his eye that definitely weren't there when the mugshot was taken. About the size of rabbit nails? I couldn't tell from where I was sitting.

He caught me staring, and for a moment, we locked eyes and watched each other across the station. Then he took off running. I bolted from my seat and gave chase.

He jumped off the platform and ran along the tracks out into the fields. He waded into a creek, and just then I got close enough to make a grab at him. We fell into the muddy water, and I tried to grab him around the waist, but he swiped me in the cheek with his paw and wriggled out of my grasp. I recoiled and felt the wound with my palm. There was a little bit of blood.

He ran up a hill, and I got out of the water and went after him. I tackled him at the top, and we rolled and landed all the way at the bottom. We scratched and bit each other in a vicious melee; conscious thought left me, and I was given over to an instinctual fight-or-flight response. I got on top of him and tore into his face and torso, until my mind returned to me and I looked down to realize he had stopped fighting back. He looked up at the sky through his bleeding face and sucked haggard breaths into his bleeding chest. With the adrenaline wearing off, the pain of all my wounds hit me as well, and I fell down and rolled over onto my back.

And in that moment, Renny Eunice started to cry—and not quietly, either, I mean he was _howling_ like a real wounded beast. Was it that he was caught, or was he pondering the turns in his life that led to this moment? Or was he thinking about Laura? I wouldn't know—I didn't ask him. I got out my phone and rang up the ZPD.

The next morning, I was bandaged and back in uniform, sitting at my desk and staring at an empty report template on my computer screen. It had been over an hour and I still hadn't written anything, and I was just thinking about sneaking off for a snack when my text tone sounded. It was Judy.

"Heard you cracked the case without me. You lucky lemur! But seriously, great work, I'm proud of you. I got my family to step out of the room for five minutes. Why don't you come down?"

That was about all the convincing I needed to get out of there.

The battalion of cops had been reduced to one rhino sitting in the lobby, and he only lifted his head to acknowledge my presence. The nurse took me up to Judy's room. I took a breath and went inside.

Judy was sitting up against against her pillow and staring down at her phone. She looked up at me and said, "Yeesh, you look like somebody's scratching post."

I pulled up a chair to Judy's bedside. I tried to say something, but it all got choked up in my throat. All I could do was lean in close, wrap both arms around her and hold her as tight as I could. I may have let a few tears roll down her back. She gently returned my hug and said, "You foxes. So emotional." I gripped her even tighter and she said, "Hey—Ow! Stitches!" Then I let go.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there to watch your back," I said.

"It's not your fault. I took every precaution—what happened could have happened to any cop, at any time."

"I promise I won't leave you alone again."

"Yeah, I know."

"So, how are you feeling? You need me to fluff your pillows or get you a carrot smoothie? How long are you in for, anyway?"

"I'm good, thanks. And I still need a few more surgeries, then there's the recovery and physical therapy. But you know me. Nothing'll keep me off the beat for _too_ long. What about you? Still thinking about Renny?"

I nodded.

"I know this case kinda got to you, but don't worry about it. You caught the bad guy. That's your job."

"What good is our job, really? Right now there's a city full of animals desperate or just deranged enough to do what Renny did. Whose body are we going to find in an alley tomorrow?"

"You're right. There will be other Rennys—thirteen-thousand Rennys a year, if I remember rightly. And more animals like Kaitlyn and Gwendolen will get hurt. But that's why we have a police force, to hunt down and remove those threats from society and to make sure they don't get away with their crimes. Serve and protect—it's all we can do."

A nurse came in to inform us that Judy's family were on their way back. I gave her one last hug, then left to write my report.


End file.
